No tournament angler this one, no man with fame and money on the mind, but rather a simple soul on a primeval mission and no mercy to spare. And should you pass and honk as I head to those perching fields, you will see me with eyes focused in a steely glare, an intense wrinkle on my brow. "Honk if you love perch,"reads the other. "Have rod and reel, fillets to follow," reads one of my bumper stickers. I take seriously this perch fishing and have, all modesty aside, honed skills in this regard over a lifetime. Condemned, this would be my final meal, fish that-day fresh, simply prepared, freshwater fish as good as they come. So it's just a tidbit and coffee for breakfast, then hit the ice, fasting for the day, cleansing the gastronomic system (and the mind) in preparation for an evening meal, the focus being perch fillets, make them deep-fried. In that regard, I have often said that I fish best when the object of the day is evermore on my mind. ![]() He who has a chicken in the pot, I say, is a poorer man on those fields where today a dozen perch must meet their maker. ![]() And I never fish for perch on a full one. ![]() I never shop for groceries on an empty stomach. I approach ice fishing perch through the ice the opposite of shopping for groceries.
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